


Strangers in the Night

by Noctis (DriveByDrabbles)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 19:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DriveByDrabbles/pseuds/Noctis
Summary: Overview: H/Hr. Post-Hogwarts by a year or two. Short smutfic. Harry, the perpetually-on-the-road Quidditch star, returns to the London flat shared with his best friends for a much-needed post-season break. He hooks up with his old schoolmates in more ways than one.Rating: NC-17 for later scenes.Originally posted on RestrictedSection.org and Portkey.org





	1. Homecoming

Puddlemere United's Seeker stood under the shower letting the heated water flow over him. The sounds of his teammates shuffling around the locker room, talking and making fun of one another after the game went unregistered.

'C'mon, mate, it wasn't that bad. We made it to the national finals at least, yeah?' Oliver Wood, his once and again Keeper, slapped him on the shoulder. 'Buck up, we'll get 'em next year. You played great! We all did. The cards just weren't with us this time.'

Harry Potter, their newest and most famous player, just nodded, mumbling something vaguely affirmative. It was enough to get Oliver to move off. The Boy-Who-Didn't-Catch-The-Snitch let the water start to run cold before he finally took a deep breath, shut the shower off and started to dry off and get dressed. Mostly he was disappointed with himself for letting the team down, but despite their loss, the players seemed generally upbeat for defying the oddmakers by signing getting a star Seeker and making it to the Finals for the first time in many decades.

As he swung his duffle bag with the entire contents of his locker — the season was over — he looked back at the now-empty locker room.

 _Next year. Next year_ , he silently promised to the lockers. Then, thinking on what Oliver said, hurried out after the others. 'Oy, wait for me, you slags!'

'Beer's on you, Potter!' cried one of the Chasers, with a laugh.

* * *

The next day, after much drinking and reminiscing over their break-out season (and a handy anti-hangover potion he picked up on the road), Harry was bouncing around on the Knight Bus on his way to Diagon Alley. Hanging onto a post for dear life had him grateful that he had enough presence of mind to send Hedwig ahead with a note to Ron and Hermione about his arrival. He also instructed Hedwig to wait for him there. _Just as well_ , he thought, _or else Hedwig would be another splat on windo—_

Whack!

The Knight Bus took a hairpin turn before slamming the brakes with such alacrity that even Harry's hold on the bar wasn't enough to keep him from smacking right into Stan, the bus conductor.

'Diagon Alley, London!' called Stan over the moans and dark mutterings of the passengers. Bee-lining for Harry's duffle bag, Stan tugged it outside, gesturing Harry to exit the bus; this was a courtesy he extended to no other passengers. Whenever Harry was on board, Harry was the only person as far as Stan was concerned.

''Ere we are, 'arry. You take care now. I really thought Puddlemere should'a won! Bye!' Stan's voice got louder as Harry quickly moved into the Leaky Cauldron to escape the star-struck conductor. Harry waved over his shoulder to spare an answer.

'I really need to ask Tonks about getting a disguise for myself,' Harry muttered to himself.

A scene similar to his first-ever time in The Leaky Cauldron took place as well-wishers who recognized the young celebrity made a fuss over his appearance and trying to shake his hand. Inevitably this lead to the entire bar noticing his arrival. With much-practiced feigned politeness, Harry just kept moving through until he got to the magical brick wall in the back alley leading to Diagon Alley proper.

It was early morning on the weekend, so most of the shops in Diagon Alley were still shut and few people were on the streets. This worked out well for Harry, as he took long strides past the familiar stores and into one of the alleyways with tall, if slightly askew, houses where witches and wizards lived.

Fishing for a key in his pockets, he approached one of the doors, unlocked it and stepped inside. _They're probably having a lie-in,_ thought Harry with a smile. Dropping his heavy duffle bag and kicking off his shoes, Harry called out.

'Is anyone home? It's me, Harry! Wake up, you lot!'

A few moments later, Ron stumbled out of his bedroom, squinting through the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows. 'Harry? Hey! Didn't think you'd be here this early. Sorry, mate, I'd have met you at the Leaky Cauldron otherwise.' The lanky redhead he grew up with came over and gave him a manly hug, back slapping and all.

'I figured with your play last night, you might've been... recovering this morning," said Ron, fighting a smirk.

'Oh, we drank all right,' laughed Harry as he wandered to the kitchen and took a stool. 'But there's this potion you can make, makes mornings a whole lot less painful.'

'You and potions? I thought Snape would've turned you off entirely. Lord knows he did for me.'

'Yeah, but I had much prettier teacher this time," said Harry with a wink. 'One of our Chasers,' supplied Harry at the blank look. Eyeing Ron as his friend rubbed sleep from his eyes, Harry decided to take advantage of Ron's fuzzled state. 'So, who were you cheering for last night? Cannons or Puddlemere?'

Harry knew Ron would've been in a tough spot. The team Puddlemere was playing against last night — and to whom they lost — was Ron's all-time favourite team. Ron, with his best friend playing against the Cannons, was in the impossible situation of wanting both teams to win.

'Come on, that's like a girl asking me if she looks fat. Can't win, no matter how I answer,' Ron pleaded. 'But for what it's worth, you guys had a bloody brilliant season. Absolutely brilliant.'

Harry gave Ron a rueful smile while glancing down the hall at one of the other bedroom doors. 'Thanks mate. It _was_ a hell of a season. Say, where's Hermione? Is she here? Or does she actually spend the night with that bloke of hers? What's his name again?'

'I wish she would,' said Ron with an eye-roll.

'What's that mean?' asked Harry.

'You'd already started your season before Harold — that's his name — and Hermione met, so you'd already moved out of the flat. Let me put it this way: I haven't cast the Silencing Spell so much since Flitwick's class.'

Harry's brow arched with surprise and not a little amusement. 'Our little Hermione's a bit of a scream—'

'Ahhh! Don't even say it!' interrupted Ron, throwing his hands over his ears. 'I still can't get Hermione and sex into the same thought, much less... well, all that.' The red-head wore such a pained expression that it sent off an uncontrolled guffaw from Harry.

'Oh, shut up,' said Ron, irritably. Then, steering the conversation back to the original question, 'Hermione's on some Ministry business up in Scotland. She's supposed to be there all weekend, back on, er, Monday, I think she said. Just as well, because she turned your room into a library-study. So, unless you want me to Transfigure you into a book, you can use Hermione's room until she gets back.'

'She did what to my room?!' Harry rushed over to the room-formerly- known-as-Harry's. Dismayed, he saw that Ron was quite right: tall bookshelves lined with books — both muggle and magical — covered every non-window and non-door space; a testament to Hermione's voracious appetite for reading. A large desk, very neat and tidy that screamed of Hermione's organization, stood in the middle.

'You let her do this to my room?' asked Harry in betrayed tones.

Ron shrugged helplessly. 'She thought you were going to get a new place, since you were going to be on the road so much. Said it'd be a waste of a room just to store your stuff. Don't worry, they're in a couple'a trunks in the attic.'

'Well, I can't very well sleep in her room when she gets back. You didn't get rid of the couch at least?'

'Well–' Ron began slowly, 'We still have it, sure, but, you see– it got a bit too close to the fireplace one time and you know my _Reparo_ isn't fantastic. It's pretty uncomfortable for everyone except Crookshanks these days. Likely wake up with a spring or two up your arse.'

Harry breathed in deeply, letting out a long sigh. He had been looking forward to settling in with his best mates, sharing meals and not worrying about diving feint patterns, Seeker snitch snatch rates of opposing teams and the early-morning practices. And now: room occupied by an army of books; bed transfigured into a desk (presumably); and the couch little more than a large sleeping cushion for an ugly cat.

'Fine, fine,' said Harry, resignedly. 'I'll crash in Hermione's room for now, but when she gets back, you're helping me convince her to give me my room back!'

'Sure thing, mate,' said Ron, laughing. 'Anyways, since we're up, how about some breakfast?'

* * *

 

Harry spent the rest of the day relaxing with Ron in the flat. Morning gave way to lunch, to a lazy afternoon, then to a dinner at the Leaky Cauldron with Fred and George, whose joke shop was nearby. It was a pleasant winding-down day though the twins weren't ones to let his loss go all that easily. They kept inserting sly remarks about it into the conversation, though Harry didn't really mind. It was simply a pleasure to talk about the game without having to worry about performance right afterwards. For now, he was just another fan of the game.

Back at the flat, Harry and Ron were enjoying a nightcap and catch-up talk. Some gossip about mutual friends and acquaintances, news on all the Weasleys and, finally, on this Harold fellow that Hermione was dating. Ron seemed slightly on the negative side about the fellow, though he couldn't really give a reason.

'Just a feeling,' he said. 'I think he's just using her for a shag.'

'I suppose even Hermione has needs,' said Harry, giving Ron with sly look. As expected, Ron just rolled his eyes. Gesturing to Ron, 'What about you? Anyone tending to your needs?'

'Nah,' Ron shrugged, 'No one right now. Kinda in between girls at the moment. Last one was just off-the-wall barmy.'

'Luna Lovegood?' asked Harry with a grin.

'Feh, I wish! Luna's strange, but pretty harmless. No, this one... had control issues. And, she really didn't like Hermione or that me and Hermione share a flat. You've never seen Hermione so close to punching someone since Malfoy in third year.'

The thought of Hermione so riled up gave Harry pause. 'Wow. That's just – wow.'

'Exactly,' said Ron. 'Anyways, not a pleasant thought. How about you? Quidditch star, Boy Who Lived, wizard who defeated You-Know-Who... must've had the girls lining the inn hallways after matches. You must have some good stories! Eh?'

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. 'Come on, mate, you know that's not me.' He paused while taking in Ron's incredulous, even disbelieving, looks. 'I'm serious! I mean, not that a bunch of them weren't quite fit–' To which Ron snorted, 'I'll bet!' Harry just shook his head. 'But it's just strange, innit? Throwing yourself on someone who doesn't know you? Couldn't do it.'

'Harry, Harry, Harry,' said Ron with a disappointed sigh. 'Any guy would give their left testicle to be in that spot, and you don't even indulge a little?' Then, with that mischievous Weasley twinkle in his eye, he asks, 'You aren't sly, are you?'

Harry took a playful swing at Ron, who half-expected it and easily dodged with an impish grin. 'If you must know, I had a little thing with Maura,' said Harry.

'Tinnerman? The Chaser?' said Ron excitedly. 'Now _that's_ what I'm talking about! Details, man!'

'Well– a bit weird telling you this, but she kinda reminded me of Ginny.' Harry saw Ron's brow rise questioningly. 'You know, red hair, Chaser, bit of a mischief-maker. She–' A pause with a wistful sigh.

Ron grinned knowingly. 'Aww, did she take your cherry?'

'With whipped cream,' said Harry, without hestitation. 'And silk scarves.'

'Kinky!'

'Oh yeah,' Harry chuckled. 'But, I'm a gentleman, so I won't kiss and tell.'

Ron reached over and slapped Harry on the back. 'Heh. Sounds like more than kissing. Well, good on you mate. But you sound like it's over.'

'Yeah, it was mostly a distraction for us while we were on the road. She's the one who taught me the hangover potion. She's been with Puddlemere a few years now, so she knows how to party.'

'And how to look a cutting sight on her broom.'

'I'll say.'

Grinning into his cup, Ron downed the last of his drink and glanced over at the house clock. 'Well, it's late, and mum's invited us to to the Burrow. I told her you were probably in this weekend.'

'It'll be great to see everyone again,' said Harry.

'I'll hide the whipped cream when we get there, in case you get any ideas with Ginny,' said Ron with a smirk. 'Not that she wouldn't mind, I'll wager. She's still got an itch for you, even if she denies it.'

'She does _not_ have an itch for me,' Harry scoffed.

'A little itch.'

'Ron,' Harry said severely, 'I'm certainly _not_ going to try anything with Ginny at the Burrow, much less shag her.'

Heading to his room, Ron tossed a parting grin over his shoulder. 'Better safe than sorry, eh?'

'Git. I'll see you in the morning.'

'Night.'

With a yawn, Harry padded over to Hermione's room and paused just inside the entrance. All the touches of femininity, from the colours, to the furnishings, to the faint lavender scent permeating the room brought a smile to his lips. The familiarity was enough to evoke an evanescent presence that was almost as good as her being actually there.

Stripping down to his boxers — a habit picked up from his time with Maura — Harry slipped underneath the soft covers and sank gratefully into the pillows. The homely feeling of it all was a welcome relief to the uneven nature of inns for the past few months.

Reaching for his wand on the nightstand, Harry gave a sleepy, _'Nox'_. As the lights winked out, he slipped into a restful sleep.


	2. Strangers in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The NC-17 bits. Sordid, unadulterated smut. Prudes beware!

Something roused Harry from his sleep, and it was the sensation of a pair of hands that touched his chest for a moment then quickly withdrew.

'Who's there?' whispered a female voice sounding alarmed.

Through his groggy fight to consciousness, Harry only vaguely registered the question. Other than that a question was posed to him and that it was dark. And that the scent of lavender that seemed so very close. Was that Lavender? Couldn't she see it was him?

'Uh, it's me. Harry,' whispered Harry, thickly.

A shocked beat. 'Harry! What are you doing here?' said the female voice, now with amused relief.

What would Lavender be doing in my inn room? I didn't see her after the game, Harry thought as the twin bludger bats of confusion and sleepiness had him wondering what was going on in. Then he remembered he was back in London, not on the road. Still, why would Lavender be here? Was Ron setting him up? He answered in a slurred voice, 'Ron told me to come here.'

'Really?' The female voice giggled. 'I didn't think Ron would have let you stay the night without me here.'

'No, I couldn't–' Harry began.

'–wait for me? Aw, how sweet!'

'No, I meant–' Harry protested.

'Shhh. Stop talking,' the female whispered. The faint rustle of robes being slipped off distracted Harry for a moment, but not nearly as much distraction having the sheets tugged aside while the bed pressed downwards from the addition of another body climing onto the bed. Specifically, straddling Harry.

The shock of such an unexpected turn of events had Harry breathe in deeply as it finally dawned on him. Lavender scent: _Hermione! She's come home early from Scotland and thinks I'm her boyfriend!_ As he felt her leaning down, he blindly reached up to restrain her, lest the situation get completely out of hand.

Harry felt a violent sensation in his groin as his hands came in contact with two exquisite-feeling — and quite bare — breasts.

Hermione's bare breasts.

A sense of shock stunned poor Harry — but not nearly as much as when Hermione pressed downwards and attacked his lips with a heated kiss. There he was, palming his best friend's breasts while being snogged (quite pleasantly, really) and—

Harry groaned softly as said best friend began slowly grinding against his boxers, the warmth from between her legs eliciting the reaction one would expect from any red-blooded male in his situation.

Now fully awake, in more ways than one, Harry tried to stay very still, in the hopes that Hermione would stop and he would get a chance to interrupt her and make a terribly embarassing explanation before things _really_ got out of hand. Despite the pleasant sensations he was having in many places, he knew this was a huge mistake.

His plan worked... sort of. Not seeing as much reaction as she might have expected, Harry felt a smile form as Hermione pulled away from the kiss. 'Oooh, playing hard-to-get, hmm?' She giggled as Harry felt one hand press against his chest and some movement on her part. Spinning on one knee, spun around to reverse-straddle him. It wasn't until he felt his boxers being pushed down and his still-stiff manhood grasped that he realized why Hermione had shifted. It wasn't enough that a warm, wet sensation engulfed his cock with exquisite pleasure drawn out with her tongue, but a moment later, the scent of a highly aroused woman assaulted his nose, the herald to Hermione's sex being pressed to his lips. A sex which was noticeably moist when it got there.

Hermione's lithe body slid and slithered over Harry's as the soixante-neuf excited him beyond all possible measure. Friend or no, it was simply too much to ignore. Before he knew it, Harry had reached up to wrap his arms around Hermione's waist and tonguing her in return.

For long minutes, their tongues and lips duelled and stimulated one another. Harry's hips were soon rising and falling with Hermione's suckling while his tongue danced over, under and around her now-exposed clit. It wasn't long before the situation was just too much. With one last upward thrust, he spasmed his pleasure into Hermione's mouth, spurting his seed violently. He stifled his yell by burying this mouth into Hermione's slit, incidentally slipping his tongue deeply into her and causing her delighted muffle which vibrated along his pulsing cock.

The sensation faded quickly and Harry's hips fell back down to the bed, his wet and spent sex twitching pleasureably in the cool evening air. Hermione pushed herself up from Harry's groin, sending her own right back into Harry's oral ministrations.

"Hmm," hummed Hermione throatily. The sound of her licking her lips with his recent spendings only excited Harry some more. 'I've never seen you last that long or come so hard. You must've really missed me!'

Harry just sort of mumbled a responses as he his lips grazed intimately on her netherlips. He flicked his tongue against her clit and she jerked plesaureably. 'Mmm, make me come, Harry...' she groaned wistfully. Grinding her hips, she made the point quite clear that she expected a return favour.

Fair was only fair, and Harry did his best. This turned out to be a good thing, as it was barely a minute later that she began bucking and panting. True to Ron's account, her cries of 'Oh, yes!' and 'Oh, Harry!' rose in volume until at that sweet moment when she finally crossed over, she loosed a resounding, 'Uuunh!' that echoed in the darkness and clamped her thighs around Harry's head.

Hermione's orgasm was just as intense as Harry's, if Harry was any judge of it. With just the tip of his tongue loitering at her entrance, he could feel the muscles spasming and contracting. It was all terribly exciting.

Eventually, she came down off her plateau of pleasure, detoured by a few mini-orgasms on the side due to Harry's playful nips. For several minutes, they both just lay there, hot and panting from all the action. Then, turning around, she snuggled into his arm, draping her body over his and mewling contentedly. Pillow talk at this juncture was out of the question. What could Harry possibly say now?

So when he gently rolled her over onto her back and passed a hand up along her inner thigh from her knee, it was to Hermione's surprise.

'Harry!' she gasped as his fingers danced along the much-slickened petals his lips had been blessed to graze upon. 'You- you want to go again? But–' She groped around until her fingers wrapped around his tumescent erection. Another gasp.

Kneeling between her legs, he gently prised them apart; a task that met little resistance. As he positioned himself to storm her, she pressed her hands to his chest for a momentary pause.

'My God, you missed me terribly, haven't you?,' murmured Hermione.

'Yeah,' Harry replied with a hoarse whisper. And with a groan, he pushed himself into her warmth, not stopping until he was fully seated in her. Hermione grabbed his head and pulled it into a hungry kiss as he slowly pumped into her. So much for stopping before it got completely out of hand.

To Hermione's surprise, Harry maneuvered her arms up over her head. With her wrists crossed, he used one hand to pin her hands down before increasing the steady rhythm of filling her, pulling out and pushing back in as deeply as he could. The sensation of vague helplessness, the inability to caress the man bringing her so much pleasure didn't seem to bother her. In fact, she did the only thing she could do: wrap her legs around his thights and thrust back at him.

The slow pumping gave way to a more brisk pace over the next few minutes. Several times, Harry felt Hermione got taut, shudder and he experienced a velvety pulsing along his shaft that only came with such intimacy. And due to the peculiarities of male anatomy, he remained hard and continued to drive Hermione from one crest to another, each one punctured with a sharp cry into the night.

After some undeterminable number of orgasms on Hermione's part, she simply collapsed back, unable to keep even her legs around Harry's waist. As Harry withdrew, she whimpered softly from the lack of his presence within her. As it turned out, it was only temporary. Harry coaxed her to turn over onto her stomach and she found herself with her hips raised into the air.

From this position — one she had yet to experience herself — she felt Harry reposition himself behind her and before she knew it, his rutting continued unabated.

The change in sensation was a cold dash of water, it seemed. Hermione was soon on all fours, arching back at Harry, bouncing off his lean abdomen. For her, it was back to another series of climaxes as Harry's hands gripped her waist, her hips, her shoulders, driving into her relentlessly.

Finally, the tingling in his groin was too much to ignore; he had manfully held out for as long as he could, but release was beckoning him in means too difficult to ignore. Leaning over her slender back, Harry panted at her neck as his thrusts became more and more erratic. Then– he squeezed at her hips and thrust to embed himself as deeply as he could, releasing the pressure that he had built up.

The act of release was almost as painful as the build-up. Despite the darkness, white blindness and stars filled Harry's sight as he completed an act of intimacy he had never thought he'd share with her. If he had more presence of mind, he might have noticed that his release was enough to coax one more release from Hermione.

This time, when they collapsed from their respective positions, it was even longer before they could move or do much more than groan from their nocturnal activities.

Limply dragging herself into a snuggling position against Harry, Hermione heaved a soft, shuddering sigh. 'That was brilliant, Harry. I don't know what you did, but you've never lasted so long. You haven't been practicing with someone while I was gone, have you? It's only been a few days!'

Harry heaved a few breathy laughs at the irony of Hermione's question. What could he answer with? _Sure, I've been shagging Puddlemere's Chaser!_

The exertions and her travelling, Harry supposed, took their toll on Hermione. She swiftly fell into a regular breathing pattern and wouldn't answer to Harry's soft calls of, 'Hermione! We need to talk.'

Unwilling to disturb her, and certainly enjoying the body against his, Harry drifted back to sleep himself. A strange mixture of marvel and a little shame wrestled in his mind over what had just happened. _In the morning. I'll talk to her in the morning. Yeah, that's it..._


	3. Ron's Sleepless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denouement

A shift on the bed nudged Harry from unconsciousness. He blinked, less from the sunlight, which had snuck into the room and filled it with early morning warmth and brightness, but more because he was breathing in a floral scented amount of bushy brown hair. As the rest of his senses came "online", he noticed that he was spooning Hermione with an arm draped over her body, cupping a modest, but nonetheless exquisite, breast.

Harry gasped as he remembered it had been Hermione he had been with all night; Hermione he had shagged six ways to Sunday (all right, it was only two or three) before collapsing from sheer exhaustion. Frantically, he glanced towards the door, measuring his chances of making an escape.

Reluctantly, he released his hold on Hermione's breast and slipped it out from underneath her arm. This movement, and the cool air replacing the warmth from his hand, stirred Hermione into wakefulness. A low, throaty groan, followed by a yawn, were her first actions. Not yet turning around, she grabbed Harry's hand and tugged it back to her chest.

_Bugger_! Harry thought. _I am so buggered now._

'Mmm. I think I'm going to be sore all day,' said Hermione with a semi-groggy giggle and a wriggle to press her bare back against Harry's warm chest. Then with a sigh, she continued with a measure of hesitancy in her voice.

'I have a confession to make, luv,' said Hermione. 'I know you like hearing about kinks, and I have to tell you... there were a couple of times last night when I thought I was making love to someone else.'

Harry just remained silent.

Hermione continued. 'Well, you know I had a little thing for Harry– Harry Potter. When I was screaming your name, at least once... or twice... I pretended I was with him.'

A stunned Harry did some more of the silence routine; his lower regions, however, began to enlarge and thump lightly against Hermione's rump. _Traitor!_ he cursed, directing the thought to his erection. But it didn't answer back. It rarely did.

'You don't think it was too... weird, do you?' said Hermione, a touch of concern creeping into her voice when no answer was forthcoming. 'Harry?'

Randomly, Harry reminded himself to thump Ron for not telling him that Hermione's boyfriend was called Harry as well, not 'Harold'. At any rate, when he eventually found his voice. Clearing his throat, he answered:

'I have a confession to make, too, Hermione. I'm not Harold.'

Now it was Hermione's turn to seize up. One, two, three quick breaths and she spun around and met Harry's eyes. Those emerald eyes that were a far cry from Harold's brown; a scar that every wizard and witch in the world could recognize; the unkempt brown hair she had known since she was eleven. She blinked, feverishly wondering how it was she could be rogered so thoroughly and not realize who it was doing her.

'And, it's a little weird,' Harry offered in the silence, offering a small, awkward smile to Hermione's last question.

For the rest of his life, Harry was unable to fully explain how Hermione's facial expression faded from shock, to horror, then to one of dumbstruck realization that it was she who had made the assumption of him being her Harold, and initiated the sequence of events that led to their unseen activities in the dark.

Several times, her mouth opened and closed, attempting to say something. Despite himself, Harry eyed those lips which he had gotten to know quite intimately last night, recalling how delectable and soft they were.

'My God. Harry. You were... here all night?' Hermione finally asked at last, weakly.

'Yeah.'

With her face and neck flushing with horrible embarassment, she flopped back to the bed, grabbing a pillow and covering her face. It didn't so much to cover the rest of her, though. Harry fought to keep his attention where it needed to be: diffusing the situation.

'Oh Merlin!' gasped Hermione. 'Oh my God. I thought you were Harry... erm, _my_ Harry!'

'Yeah– Yeah, I kinda figured that.'

'Harry, _why_ on Earth didn't you say anything?!'

'Hermione,' Harry began in his most reasonable tones, 'You woke me up; I was already asleep, so it– it took me a moment to figure out where I was. I tried not to respond to you when I figured out what was going on, hoping I could stop you. But then you sort of sat on my face and... well, I'm only human, Hermione. I couldn't help myself after that.'

Hermione peeked out from one corner of the pillow to see Harry biting his lower lip with an anxious expression on his face.

'Erm. Your boyfriend is a really lucky man," Harry offered.

'Not last night,' Hermione answered with a sheepish laugh, emerging from the pillow. A wave of relief filled Harry as it seemed Hermione wasn't going to go spare and place the blame of the whole incident on him.

'Yeah,' said Harry, equally sheepish as he scratched his head. 'I, um. I guess not.'

Propping herself upon an elbow, Hermione levelled an appraising look at Harry. Those intelligent, sharp eyes skimmed his lean form, taking in the toned musculature of a professional sportsman, widening when they saw his 'morning wood' (or was that morning broom?). 'You were... _fantastic_ , Harry,' she said at last. 'I felt more satisifed last night than week with Harry– Harold.

Harry flushed lightly, a little embarassed at his morning state, now that both knew exactly who it was they were dealing with. Despite his lack of glasses, the closeness made it easy to discern her more salient features in the morning light. Features he drank in furtively; or, as furtively as he could be, just inches away from his best friend's nude form.

It was Hermione who slid forward, reaching for his erection, squeezing and fondling it appreciatively. 'And, you're a little thicker than him,' she purred.

'Herm– Hermione, this is– wouldn't this be a mistake if we were to do this, now that we know?' stammered Harry. His breath sped up as she closed the distance until their noses were touching.

'Shush," she whispered before pressing those lips to his and rolling him onto his back...

* * *

Ron was in a right foul mood.

Really.

Tugging on a housecoat, Ron padded out into the hallway, glaring harshly at Hermione's door. She had interrupted his night yet again with her cat-in-heat wailing as she and her wretched boyfriend did their horizontal mambo. All. Damned. Night.

'Bloody Hermione. Bloody Harold. Figures they'd get home early,' muttered Ron bitterly. As he passed their door, he could hear the bed creaking and Hermione's breathless cries that could only mean one thing. Disgusted, Ron pounded on the door. 'Oy! It's too damn early for that!' It was barely 9:00 in the morning!

Of course, they didn't stop. Muttering imprecations, he headed for the kitchen to brew some coffee, thinking up suitable revenge tactics. Maybe a shrinking spell, he thought savagely. _Yeah, that's got to be in one of the spellbooks in Hermione's study._

A fleeting thought crossed Ron's mind as he sipped on his coffee. There was something he was forgetting. Something important. He should talk about it with Harry–

Where was Harry? Ron wandered around the flat, hoping Harry wasn't too angry about being kicked out of Hermione's room. But he was nowhere to be found: not in the loo, his old room, the attic, nor on the couch where Crookshanks purred loudly. He wandered back to the kitchen, wondering if Harry had gone out early when a horrific thought dawned on him.

Harry never left Hermione's room.

Just then, the kitchen's fireplace flared up and a red-headed face appeared among green flames. 'Ron!' said Ginny. 'Ah, you're up, good. Mum wanted me to remind you to bring Harry around this afterno– Ron, are you all right? You look like you've seen a Boggart.'

'They're _shagging_ in Hermione's room!' Ron said weakly, mostly answering his own thoughts than Ginny's question.

'What, again?' Ginny answered with a wry laugh. 'I'd figure you'd be used to Hermione and Harry going at it by now.'

'No!' cried Ron, desperately. 'You don't understand, Gin. That's _Harry_ in there with her!'

As if to underscore the point, one of Hermione's pitched, 'Oh, Harreee!' climax cries echoed from down the hallway to Ginny's ears. Ron winced.

Blood drained from Ginny's already pale features. 'Harry?!' she exclaimed, jaw dropping. A moment later, she burst out into peals of laughter. 'I knew it! I didn't think she'd have the guts to go through with it, though.'

A stunned look from Ron met Ginny's eyes which danced with mirth. 'What do you mean you knew?!' he demanded.

'Oh, Hermione's fancied Harry for a little while now. I mean, _really_ fancied him.'

'But I thought _you_ fancied him?'

'Well, a little, but really, what red-blooded witch doesn't?'

'It's bloody news to me! How come I didn't know?' Ron demanded.

'Oh, Ron,' said Ginny, shaking her head. 'You really think Hermione's going to admit she's got an urge to violently shag her best friend? Anyways. Lunch is at one o'clock; we're expecting Bill, so tell Fred and George to be there.' And with that, she vanished, leaving Ron staring at a normal fire again.

The action seemed to have died down back in Hermione's room, but to Ron's reluctantly trained ears, he knew they weren't finished in there.

'I have a feeling we might be late for lunch,' he said mournfully.

_Finis._


End file.
